


Quenched

by Havokftw



Series: I used to be indecisive, now I'm not sure. [7]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alpha Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Claiming Bites, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Mating Bites, Minor Violence, Omega Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Omega Verse, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: Seungcheol is not a man given to jealousy. He's never been the type to instantly dislike somebody before. Usually he likes everyone he meets. Except for that other guy Jihoon was talking to....Part 7 in the Jicheol ABO series: Alpha Seungcheol becomes possessive.Story set after 'Desire' in the series.





	Quenched

“Oh my god—did you see that?” Jihoon gasps just high enough to attract Seungcheol’s attention.

“Huh?”

“Are you watching? Did you see that fight scene? How awesome was that!”

It takes every shred of self-control Seungcheol’s got to pull his eyes back to the screen. “Yeah, yeah—it was awesome.” He deflects.

He’s not watching the movie, not really. He’s understandably distracted.

Jihoon’s wearing one of his t-shirts and the long, creamy line of his neck is just—there. Just waiting to be marked.

_Oh—fuck._

It takes no time at all for everything around Seungcheol to become overwhelming. Heat, smell (especially smell), and thought. All converging to something maddening and unbearable.

Seungcheol was better than most at controlling his Alpha instincts then actually facing them in all their terrifying complexity, but falling back on instincts was becoming easier and easier each day. And now, with the heat emanating from the small Omega sprawled over his lap, the breath between them, the area between his neck and shoulder looking extremely inviting—it’s becoming damn near impossible to cast-off that instinct.

He has to make a concentrated effort to keep looking at Jihoon’s face when he speaks next, and he replies with a smile because he’s just not focused.

The idea is in Seungcheol’s head now, and he can’t let it go: Jihoon pliant against him, straddling his lap, hands fisted desperately in Seungcheol’s shirt to hold himself up. Jihoon’s lashes fluttering down over his lust-dark eyes, the urgent heat of his cock against Seungcheol’s hip…

_Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck._

He’s pouring with sweat, jaw aching, and Jihoon’s so caught up with the drama on screen he doesn’t give him a second glance when he excuses himself for a quick shower.

He stands under the cold spray, wraps a shaking hand round his cock as water rolls lukewarm down his spine, warmed by his over-hot skin. He braces an arm against the wall and works himself roughly to the thought of how good Jihoon would feel against him, hips stuttering helplessly against the press of Seungcheol’s thigh, whimpering when Seungcheol nips his throat in warning. He would be so beautiful, flushed and breathless, gasping into Seungcheol’s mouth, giving himself up to whatever pleasure Seungcheol offers him –

Seungcheol comes with a groan, biting savagely at his forearm to muffle the sound, and for one delirious moment, he imagines that it’s Jihoon’s blood touching his tongue, Jihoon’s flesh he’s marking with his teeth.

He indulges in a longer shower than usual, letting the heat lull him into a mindless calm.

* * *

 

Jihoon’s been fully fertile for two months and despite agreeing in the midst of heat to talk about claiming—they haven’t.

Seungcheol’s been biding his time since then, not so much on purpose, but because he's got no goddamn idea how to broach the subject. ' _Hey, Jihoon. I know you like your independence and all—but I want to make you mine. And I've been wanting to bite you hard lately. Maybe we should do something about it._ '

That would certainly go over smoothly. Assuming 'smoothly' meant with a slap in the face and a view of Jihoon’s ass disappearing out the door.

Of course that’s just the worst case scenario Seungcheol keeps playing in his head; Jihoon could be very receptive to the idea of claiming, might even be a little _charmed_ by it.

If only Seungcheol wasn’t so chicken shit about bringing the topic up.

He knows, logically, that if this _is_ going to happen, it needs to be on Jihoon’s terms. He’s not going to force Jihoon into anything. He wants Jihoon to come to him of his own accord, confident that it’s the right decision. He wants Jihoon to _want_ this life with him, want everything that comes with it, and not feel like he’s sacrificing anything for it.

Above all, he wants Jihoon to  _trust_  him, absolutely: to deliver himself into Seungcheol’s hands, wholly and without condition, knowing down to his bones that Seungcheol will never give him cause to regret it.

Until then, Seungcheol’s having to reign himself in every time his mind wanders. Biting down on the instinct to— _bite down_.  And this isn’t the kind of stress you manage with yoga and meditation and that aromatherapy shit— _no_. This is the kind of stress managed by jerking off—a lot— _on Jihoon_. 

Seungcheol isn't great at keeping quiet through an orgasm, so thank fuck Jihoon sleeps like the dead. The last thing he needs is Jihoon waking up and interrupting him just before the finish line.

This whole problem is awkward enough alone in Seungcheol's head. He's not too keen on learning what it's like to  _share_  the awkwardness with Jihoon.

Although, he’s had a few close calls…

“Did—did you come all over my stomach while I was sleeping?” Jihoon questions.

Seungcheol quickly holds back a wince; he was sure he’d managed a thorough clean-up job last night. Guess not.

“Do you really think that’s something I’m capable of doing Jihoon?” Seungcheol replies—because that’s the only way he can answer that question without lying, and get away with it.

Jihoon narrows his eyes at him, suspicion blunting his sharp edges, but doesn’t say anything else as he heads into the shower.

When smearing his scent all over his sleepy boyfriends body _isn’t_ enough, Seungcheol considers doubling up on his dose of suppressants. It’s not advised, but he can’t think of another way of curbing that instinct without sinking his teeth into soft flesh.

More recently Seungcheol has to force himself to focus on Jihoon’s face while he’s speaking, to look away whenever his gaze starts to wander to the shape of Jihoon’s shoulders or the soft flesh under his jaw.

Only, the more he pulls back, trying to respect Jihoon’s boundaries, the more it feels like Jihoon’s waging a guerrilla war on his self-restraint.

He prods Seungcheol’s buttons with one throwaway gesture after another: wearing Seungcheol’s too large t-shirts that dip low around his collar, stretching the pale curve of his throat as he yawns, stroking an absentminded finger down his exposed throat and leaving Seungcheol gritting his teeth against the raw, over sensitized ache of his dick.

If Seungcheol didn’t know better, he would swear that Jihoon is fucking with him.

* * *

 

Seungcheol accompanies Jihoon to Busan one weekend, to meet with some _guy_ ; a precocious twenty-something Beta he met online, who’s kindly offered to help Jihoon write a musical piece for his end of year project.  

They meet near the beach, close to where the Beta lives. While they wait, they bandy about the idea of taking in some sights while they’re in the city.

It’s a beautiful city and the weather’s great, and the restaurant, with its plaster walls and rickety outdoor tables, would have been the perfect place to have lunch and take in some local colour. Had they been alone.

He really wishes they were alone.

It feels strange to be calling a guy he’s just met a _'complete jackass'_ in his head, but it's apt and Seungcheol refuses to over think it.

From the first  _hey,_ the Beta hones in on Jihoon like a fan meeting their favourite idol. He gushes over the “honor” of working with a musical prodigy—not even sparing a glance at Seungcheol, not that anyone’s tracking.

He namedrops every famous producer he’s met personally. He orders from the menu in perfect English (even though there is a perfectly serviceable Korean menu available) and casually mentions the other 4739230 languages he can speak. He flashes Jihoon a flirtatious smile every 0.5 seconds and licks the chocolate off his desert spoon unnecessarily _slow_.

The Beta is sophisticated, intelligent, and admittedly attractive in his tight jeans and designer shirt. But none of that is why Seungcheol wants to pulverise his face.

Seungcheol hates the guy because Jihoon so clearly  _doesn’t_.

Jihoon actually likes the guy.

Jihoon laughs at the Beta’s jokes and debates the validity of the latest releases in the music charts. The Beta studied the same course as Jihoon, so he speaks Jihoon’s language of musical structure and theory. Between the two of them, they have the particulars of the project lined out in an hour, leaving Seungcheol to sit back like a lemon and spectate.

Jihoon even  _smiles_  and hugs the Beta after lunch and they make well-structured plans to meet up in a few weeks, stating how much he’s  _looking forward_  to working with the guy.

It’s all very distressing and horrid, and Seungcheol can’t decide if he should comment or not on Jihoon’s unusually friendly behaviour.

Normally that’s an attitude Seungcheol celebrates, but today it only digs into his skin.

It took Seungcheol well over three months to get Jihoon to just _look_ at him without scowling, and here he is— _hugging_ people he’s until recently only spoken to online.

He really wants to say something. But then Jihoon suggests they head to the beach, holds Seungcheol’s hand while they stroll along the corniche, and Seungcheol decides he doesn’t want to ruin what turns out to be a pretty awesome day.

* * *

 

It’s Tuesday morning. Seungcheol meets Jihoon at their regular coffee shop right after his early morning football practice (and fuck whoever decided to schedule those, seriously), riding an adrenaline high, but definitely in need of caffeine.

They’re standing in the queue, chatting when Seungcheol feels a rush of cold air hit him as the door behind him opens. Jihoon looks over his shoulder briefly, and his face falls. Just falls.

“Oh, crap.” Jihoon groans, turning back quickly and then looking pointedly down at his shoes.

“What is it?”

“That guy who just walked in through the door—” Jihoon hisses, glancing over his shoulder and then back to Seungcheol, giving him a small, distracted smile. “Don’t look at him.”

Seungcheol sighs—a little late for that. He’s already looking straight at the guy—a short-ish Beta with reddish brown hair who becomes unnerved by the intense scrutiny.

“Too late now, he’s already caught me looking. He even looked back—I think we’ve developed a connection. Should I wave him over? Maybe we can be friends.” Seungcheol deadpans.

Jihoon thumps him ineffectually in the arm. “Stop, seriously—just don’t look.”

Seungcheol grins. “Why shouldn’t I have looked at him?”

“Cause I don’t want him coming over here okay. It’s just a guy I— _dated_.” Jihoon hisses.

_Oh._

“Oh—really? When?” Seungcheol asks, and keeping the accusatory interest out of his voice is a lot like swallowing glass.

“Oh, ages ago. Remember that bust date I went on?”

Seungcheol ignores the flare of jealousy he feels and its surprising sting. _Of course_ he remembers.

“No. Jog my memory.” He lies.

Jihoon’s sigh is immediate, a long rush of air through his nose, “It was a few months before we hooked up. I had a date and it ended— _awkwardly_. Then I came over to yours for a movie. Remember?”

 _“Ohh yeahh._ That rings a bell. I seem to recall a sudden date you ‘conveniently’ remembered when I asked you to come over.” Seungcheol says dryly. He’s being a shit, but the opportunity is too tempting to ignore. 

Jihoon shoots him a look that borders on scornful, possibly to disguise the deeply absorbing hint of darkening colour in his already heat-flushed cheeks. “Yeah, that was it.”

They step forward to place their order. When the Barista asks if it’s for here or to go, Jihoon glances to the seating area to the left—than discreetly down the queue at his ex before saying, “To go.” The  _definitely_  is implied.

 _Wow, he really can’t wait to get away from the guy_ —Seungcheol thinks, surreptitiously trying to get a second look at the Beta.

The guy seems nice enough, even shares a polite if awkward wave with Jihoon, probably undeserving of Seungcheol’s sudden fantasy where he throws the Beta through the shop window.

They step away from the counter to wait for their drinks. There are only two staff members on duty, and there are four drinks ahead of Jihoon’s flat white and Seungcheol’s ill-advised Pumpkin spiced latte.

“So that was a real date then. Coulda sworn you’d just made that up on the spot to just mess with me.” Seungcheol laughs. He waits a beat for Jihoon to contradict him, give a snappy retort, anything.

But Jihoon pulls his hoodie over his head, frustrated and angry and embarrassed, and Seungcheol didn't really need it confirmed, but oh my God, that is absolutely confirmation.

“Yeah—I did.” He says, voice oddly quiet, still not meeting Seungcheol’s eyes. “C’mon—we both know I was really shy around you back then.”

Seungcheol snorts. “I’ll say.”

Jihoon might be hiding behind his hoodie, but Seungcheol is close enough to see that there isn't just a flush on his face. There's regret there too, and something else, quickly bitten down on and pushed away.

Jihoon shrugs weakly. “It was stupid of me, okay. I was just so embarrassed about that kiss. I couldn’t remember much from that night and I didn’t know how much of it _you_ remembered either, so I thought the best thing to do was keep my distance.”

“By dating other guys.” Seungcheol realizes the instant he said it that he sounds frighteningly possessive, which means Jihoon has undoubtedly picked up on it too. “So, why didn’t you guys work out? He seems—averagely good looking.” Seungcheol asks, forcing himself to sound jovial.

“There was no spark, he was kinda dull.” Jihoon says, his voice thick with resigned displeasure.

“Dull? Like— _In bed?”_ Seungcheol says, perhaps a tad to hopefully.

Jihoon snorts and shakes his head. “We didn’t sleep together. We hardly got to second base to be honest. He wasn’t exactly my type and I—had somebody else on my mind at the time.”  

“Who?” Seungcheol asks, and if Jihoon doesn’t say it was him—he might actually cry.

“Uh—you. _Obviously_.” Jihoon clarifies, a bit grudgingly. His expression is grouchy, but it lacks bite, and Seungcheol suspects it’s out of habit more than any real ire

Seungcheol can’t keep the grin off his face at that admission.

“So—uhmm—how many guys have you dated exactly? Have you ever— _been_ with other Alpha’s? Or has it just been other Omega’s and Beta’s?”

“Are you really asking for details?” Jihoon asks, and his expression slides to stubborn incredulity.

“No,” He doesn’t want to hear any of it. Just the idea of Jihoon being with anyone else makes him want to claw the walls. “Just—interested to know what ticks your boxes.”

“ _Cheollie_.” Jihoon says. He murmurs it an inch from Seungcheol’s lips, hands sliding boldly up to hold his face, and the way his name rolls of Jihoon’s tongue sends anticipatory shivers down Seungcheol's spine. "You do." A quick, light press of lips “ _You_ tick my boxes.”

Seungcheol slips his arms around the Omega’s waist, tugs him closer. “Happy to hear it.” He grins, and bends down to chase him for another kiss.

There orders get called and they grab their coffees, heading towards the exit hand in hand.

And if Seungcheol eyeballs Jihoon’s ex a little too hard as they leave—well—that’s only natural.

* * *

 

The library during finals, Seungcheol is not a fan of the library during finals.

Though judging by Jihoon's expression over a dusty red book he's not the only one that isn't enjoying the crowded study room crammed with nervous students.

There’s a guy to Jihoon’s right who keeps jostling his elbow every time he turns a page, and Seungcheol’s not sure who he should feel sorry for; Jihoon, or the guy who’s going to get Jihoon’s pencil stabbed through his neck. 

“Hey Jihoon—good to see you!” Some guy says, materializing suddenly next to Jihoon’s chair. He’s dark haired and slim and looks like a model. His smile reminds Seungcheol of a well-sharpened knife.

“Oh—hi Mark. How’ve you been?” Jihoon answers.

“Better for seeing you.” Mark says, subjecting Jihoon to a thorough, lingering once over. Clearly he’s trying for a flirtatious look, and falling about twenty miles short if Jihoon’s awkward laughter is anything to go by.

 _‘Better for seeing you’_ Seungcheol mocks in his head but doesn't say out loud.

He tries to focus on the notes and does his best to ignore the tight feeling that settles immediately into his chest.

Mark seems like a nice guy, but he’s eager and friendly in a way Seungcheol immediately recognizes as dangerous, leaning in to speak in a confidential tone—even when Jihoon leans back.

Seungcheol’s not sure why Jihoon doesn’t just scowl at the guy.

Jihoon _loves_ scowling at things. It’s like his hobby or something.

A nice scowl right about now would surely make ‘ _Mark’_ leave or back the fuck off at least.  

Or are the scowls only reserved for Seungcheol? Probably. Should he feel special?

 _Hold up_ —Is Mark one of Jihoon’s ex’s?

The thought jangles in his head like a bad note. He tries to shake it out and let common sense prevail. Then he tries not to scowl himself when Mark makes a lame joke and Jihoon _giggles_.

_What the fuck?_

Never mind. He’s not going to scowl because it’s a totally _fake_ giggle. Jihoon’s obviously just being polite, laughing at Mark’s non-funny lame jokes.

When Jihoon laughs again, and it’s a little louder this time, Seungcheol turns a page in his book pointedly, rolling his eyes. He’s half expecting someone to come over and  _shush_  them.

He wishes they would, he’s trying to study here dammit. He's fairly sure that only happens in the movies. Though Mark is being pretty obnoxious so, for him, they'd probably make an exception.

Seungcheol keeps glancing across the table as they chat and tries to feel something other than the vague grating irritation that’s dogged him for the last few months.

Seungcheol is not a man given to jealousy. He’s never been the type to instantly dislike somebody before. Usually he likes everyone he meets.

Except for that other guy Jihoon was talking to.

And that other one Jihoon introduced him to with the stupid hipster ponytail. Oh and don’t even get him started on that guy who wears sunglasses day and night.

_Why does Jihoon know so many losers?_

“Hey, so listen. I’m glad I caught up with you.” Mark says, leaning over Jihoon’s seat in such a disturbingly friendly fashion that Seungcheol’s grip on his pencil tightens.

“We’re holding a party at the house to celebrate the end of finals, you should come. I met up with Jeonghan and Jisoo earlier and they’ll both be there, so whaddy say?”

Jihoon nods agreeably. “Sounds good. Cheol? You in?” He asks, and Seungcheol realizes he's been zoned out and staring for god only knows how many minutes.

His cheeks flame. He opens his mouth to answer, _‘Sure, why not’_ , when Mark interrupts.

“Oh—sorry dude. It’s a strictly Beta/Omega mixer. It’s house rules I’m afraid.” He says, not looking the least bit apologetic. “We have a pretty strict frat president and last time we had Alpha’s over—they got into a massive fight and wrecked the place. No offence man.”

Seungcheol swiftly tamps down the hurt that threatens to overwhelm him, replacing it with forced cheerfulness. He should be used to this by now. “I understand, that’s fine.”

Marks mouth tilts into a small, humourless half-smile, before turning back to Jihoon. “You should come though, Jihoonie. A few of the guys have been asking about you, and it wouldn’t be a party without you there.” He purrs, and Seungcheol’s fury is whole and surprising.

Seungcheol doesn’t realise he’s crushed the pencil in his hand into find dust, until Mark and Jihoon jump.

He abruptly finds a book on _‘Biokinesiology and Physical Therapy’_ fascinating, but still catches the distinctive flash of ' _What the fuck_?' conveyed in Jihoon’s eyes.

There’s a painful moment of drawn out silence, before Jihoon speaks. “No thanks Mark, I’m good.”

“Oh—uhm—okay. I’ll—maybe see you around…” Mark says, stepping back from the table cautiously.  

Seungcheol lets the broken pencil drop to the table, dusting off splinters on his jeans.

When he looks up, Jihoon’s staring straight at him.

There’s a split second of unnervingly intense scrutiny, before Jihoon pouts. “That was **my** pencil Cheol. You know how I feel about people defacing my stationary.”

Seungcheol struggles for some sort of explanation beyond _‘You were giggling at his jokes and it made me sad’_.

“I’m sorry. I—guess I’m nervous about finals.” He murmurs.

“Dumbass.” Jihoon shakes his head, but he sounds unbearably fond as he hands Seungcheol another pencil.

Seungcheol smiles, feeling light and momentarily free from the tight discomfort that filled his chest moments before. 

* * *

Jihoon’s rapidly learning that Alpha’s compete with each other over _everything_. And he means everything.

Sports, games, UNO, food, sex, spontaneous arm wrestling competitions in the middle of the library…It’s fucking ridiculous but probably a mismanagement of excess energy and hormones flowing through their system.

Seungcheol doesn’t usually submit to those competitive urges, but every now and then he’ll throw his weight around, usually if food is involved.

Today for instance, he’s doing the whole chest puffing, growling and glaring down the nose thing to— _claim an empty seat on the train_.

Jihoon doesn’t have the energy to face palm hard enough.

Mingyu and Vernon had initially been staring each other down over it, until Seungcheol stepped up and joined the staring competition. Now the corner of the train carriage is home to a tense three man stare off, and Jihoon is expecting the theme from ‘ _The Good, the Bad and The Ugly’_ to start playing at any moment.

He’s not sure how Alpha’s can communicate through force of stare—but they’re managing it somehow. He has no idea what possesses them to become fiercely territorial over a ‘seat’ when there are in fact—ten other empty seats in the carriage.

It’s like they’ve decided _this_ seat is the best—and they _must_ lay claim to it. 

So they have their tense stare off and Seungcheol wins. He claims the seat victoriously, fist pumping like he’s just slayed a fucking dragon. Then a second later—he offers the seat to Jihoon.

Jihoon lifts his eyebrows at him to show how very not charmed he is. “Seriously?”

Seungcheol grins as if he’s received quite the opposite message. “Don’t you want to sit?”

Despite himself, Jihoon finds it easy to smile back. Seungcheol only ever competes when he thinks it’s something _Jihoon_ wants, and by winning he’s proving himself to Jihoon somehow.

It’s a little fucking adorable—not that he’ll ever tell Seungcheol that.

Jihoon graciously declines the seat in favour of standing; they’re getting off in a few stops anyway, no point in getting comfortable.

Even though the train car is not particularly crowded, the seats are occupied in the same skip-one pattern favoured at urinals and in hospital waiting rooms, so Jihoon and Jisoo grab a pole to themselves and Jihoon stands flicking at his phone.

Seungkwan joins them a moment later, and stands unnecessarily close on the pole, so Jihoon pivots a few degrees away to give himself space.

Seungkwan just leans closer though, to speak directly in his ear. “You’ve got a pair of eyes on you.”

Jihoon’s gaze remains fixed on his phone. “A person generally has at least one pair, yes.

“No, an Alpha—to your 7.” Jisoo whispers with a nudge.

Jihoon steps to the side, one step closer to Jisoo, and looks in the window. The walls of the tunnel are dark, and there’s a guy sitting behind him, reflected in the glass.

He seems to be watching Jihoon.

It’s too dirty to make out details but the expression on Seungkwan and Jisoo’s faces says it all, really. Unless they’re referring to the middle-aged man with the comb-over. Which—ew.

Jihoon shrugs. There’s not much he can do about people staring at him, although it is a little unnerving how much _more_ attention he gets now that he’s fertile.

“So…” Seungkwan drawls, grabbing his attention again.

“What?” Jihoon prompts.

“When are you and Seungcheol going to make—the big leap?” He says, looking relaxed, and amused and a little bit teasing

“The big leap?” Jihoon asks, wondering if he missed something or if this is just one of Seungkwan's more random non-sequiturs.

“Yanno..” Seungkwan trails off again and then makes a snapping motion with his jaw.

Jihoon feels his cheeks heat immediately. He swallows thickly, trying and failing to ignore the hot thrum of his pulse as it speeds his blood.

Both Jisoo and Seungkwan gape in surprise.

“Oh my god. You’re blushing. _He’s blushing.”_ Jisoo gasps.

Jihoon clamps his jaw shut, air punching out through his nostrils. “Are you guys going to be this annoying for the rest of the day? Tell me now, so I can put my headphones on.” He snarls, venom to mask the flustered blush.

“So, you haven’t talked about it yet?” Jisoo asks, actual concern colouring his expression. “You guys are getting pretty serious—what with the apartment hunting and all. Haven’t you thought about the next logical step?”

Jihoon sighs. “We’ve talked—just not at length. It’s not exactly a topic you bring up out of nowhere.”

Jisoo and Seungkwan share another knowing look. “Wow. _That explains it.”_

“Explains what?”

“Why he’s so possessive over you.” Jisoo says, eyes cutting away from Jihoon to Seungcheol sitting a few seats away. “I mean—he’s always been _kinda_ possessive, but now there’s that edge of _violence_. Which kinda makes sense now.”

“He’s not _violent_!” Jihoon makes an effort not to sound flippant. “It’s Cheol for fucks sake—he’s never aggressive. He’s the softest cinnamon roll.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Jisoo snorts. “So soft when he’s eyeballing every other Alpha in a meter radius.”

“He does not.” Jihoon says, mildly affronted. “Look at him,” He risks a glance over his shoulder and confirms that Seungcheol is as happy and smiley as can be, sitting in his seat like the adorable overgrown puppy he is. “There isn’t a single violent bone in his body. He’s so chill. If he had a tail—he’d be wagging it right now.”

“Jihoon—buddy,” Seungkwan says, patting him on the back. “He’s on edge. We all can see it. He’s just waiting to rip somebody’s head off. Just waiting for somebody to step out of line.”

“You’re _wrong_ , Seungcheol’s fine.” Jihoon assures them.

He's not sure he means it, and it's a force of effort to drag his eyes away before Seungcheol notices the attention.

Seungcheol _has_ been acting weird recently. But Jihoon doesn't know how to put it into words. It's not like Seungcheol's behaviour has changed _overtly_. It's not as though he treats Jihoon any differently, in public or in private. There's no single, tangible  _thing_  for Jihoon to point out. Just a feeling he gets when Seungcheol looks at him.

Seungcheol hasn't quite learned the art of meaningful and suggestive looks being subtle yet, so it's mostly just staring. Really intense staring. Like he’s afraid the minute he looks away, Jihoon will disappear!

Seungkwan nudges him. “If you don’t believe us, go sit over there in the spare seat next to that Alpha—just watch what Seungcheol does.”

Jihoon considers telling Seungkwan to fuck off—but something pushes him to prove him wrong instead.  

When the train stops at the next platform and a few people get off, he steps away from the pole and walks over to the empty seat Seungkwan had pointed out. It’s a few seats opposite and across from where Seungcheol is seated, and right next to the strange Alpha that had been watching him earlier.

The Alpha turns his head slightly as Jihoon sits, inhaling deeply—it’s not unusual for him to get this reaction now—but it’s still _unsettling_.

Then, the Alpha beside him stiffens, shifting forward in his seat a fraction. Jihoon can feel the tension in the carriage become palpable, can feel Seungcheol watching him intently.

Jihoon doesn’t look up, but he can see Seungcheol from the corner of his eye and he knows he hasn’t moved.

When Jihoon chances a glance at Seungcheol—he catches it; Seungcheol glowering hard enough to set the train on fire.

There’s a deep growling coming from him too, and a glint of his teeth, all five thousand of them, if Jihoon is any judge.

Jihoon shakes his head, can't look away from the shape in the corner, that looks like Seungcheol and yet really, really doesn't at the same time.

He looks fucking _feral_.

The strange Alpha is up out of his seat in a flash, scrambling to pick up his bag and wind his earphones, before dashing down the train and into the next carriage.

Seungcheol flashes a glance at the retreating form through his lashes, less feral and yet more dangerous now, more unidentifiable. And then suddenly, he blinks and comes back from whatever corner of his own head was holding him.

Like a light switch being turned off, he reverts back into happy, goofy self, smiling at Jihoon warmly.

_Jesus Christ. How did he miss this?_

* * *

The club they’re in tonight is absolutely alive with people, most of them students celebrating the end of finals. There are wall-to-wall people on the dance floor, so many that and the DJ’s heavy beat is barely audible from across the room and the clubs doors have been closed for maximum capacity.

They’ve secured a tall booth in the corner alongside Mingyu and Vernon, a round of fresh beers between them—a small but growing collection of empty bottles scattered across the table. Jihoon's been eyeing up the hard liquor behind the bar like he's contemplating shots, but they both know better than that.

It's a warm night, laughter and music pouring from every corner, and Seungcheol’s in the middle of a conversation with Vernon when he notices Jihoon leaving his seat.

“Where you going Jihoonie?”

“I’m going to order a different drink—I need something, non—alcoholic.” Jihoon explains.

“What do you want? I’ll get it for you.”

Jihoon tries to wave him off. “It’s fine, I’ll just go—you were in the middle of talking to Ver-.”

“Vernon can wait.” Seungcheol interjects quickly, “Tell me what you want to order—I’ll get it for you.”

Jihoon looks at him for a minute without saying anything, assessing. Then he sighs heavily and drops back into his seat. “Lemonade and coke.”

Seungcheol nods and slips out of the booth to fetch him his drink. When he returns, Jihoon’s staring at him like he’s suspicious of something. Seungcheol likes that face a little better than his scowly face, it's not cross so much as confused, a pained sort of confused. Like it hurts Jihoon to feel anything but angry, which must be exhausting.

“There you go babe.” Seungcheol says, sliding the drink over and retaking his seat.

Jihoon’s still doing the suspicious stare thing, but grudgingly accepts the drink with a muttered, “Thanks,” and tosses back a swallow.

Seungcheol continues his conversation with Vernon about apartment hunting for the next year, but a few minutes later Jihoon is lifting out of his seat again, and Seungcheol can’t help but ask, “Where are you going?”

Jihoon stiffens at the query. His eyes narrow for an instant. “To the toilet.”

“Okay, I’ll come with.” Seungcheol says, downing the rest of his drink and standing up. He freezes in place when he catches sight of Jihoon’s expression.

Jihoon looks like he might want to slap him. Then again, Jihoon always looks like that so maybe it’s his natural state. “No—Cheol, you’re not. Just stay here, keep our seats.”

“Vernon can keep our seats.” Seungcheol offers.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just scowls, there are no words, only scowls. The scowls are directed at him, all the time, it's very unfair.

“I—I kinda need to take a piss anyway.” He says, ready to bluster and dissemble until Jihoon stops looking at him that way. 

The expression on Jihoon's face calls bullshit, “No, you don’t Cheol.” He growls finally. “Stay here, okay. I don’t need you chaperoning me to the toilets. I’m not five. I’m not going to flush myself down the toilet or stare in the mirror and accidentally summon the candy man.”

Seungcheol nods dumbly and slumps back into his chair, feeling like an idiot.

He knows he’s being over-protective, but he can’t help the restlessness under his skin. Recently, just thinking about Jihoon has been making his skin heat, and Christ, he could have done without the distraction in the middle of his exams.

He realises he’ll probably continue to feel this way for the foreseeable future—until he claims Jihoon—and maybe even after that.

* * *

 

Jihoon scoots out of the booth without another word, and walks quickly and purposefully to the toilets, feeling the searing heat of Seungcheol’s eyes on his back the whole way.

He slides in and out through gaps in the crowd, slowly makes his way through to the back rooms to the toilet, further from the music and the dancing. It's only slightly quieter here, the buzz of conversation a constant noise, but he revels in the moments solitude as he does his business.

He lingers after, checking his phone and replying to a few messages, unhurried, wanting to take his time and let his head clear a bit before making his way back to their booth and Seungcheol’s _possessiveness_.

He’s just stepped out of the toilets when he comes face to face with an Alpha. He steps to the side, but the Alpha just mimics his movement.

“Well, hello beautiful.” The Alpha purrs.

“Uhmm— **no**.” Jihoon snorts, side stepping the Alpha successfully this time. He’s half way back into the main area when the Alpha’s hand closes around his upper arm, yanking him back with too much force.

“Hey—don’t be like that. I just wanted to talk.”

“Well I don’t.” Jihoon says, careful to keep his voice neutral as he yanks his arm out of the Alpha’s painful grip.

The Alpha’s eyes narrow dangerously, his brow furrowing as he crowds forward into Jihoon's space. Jihoon retreats—but the Alpha follows, until Jihoon feels the edge of a table digging into his back and has nowhere else to go.

And even though, just seconds past, he was anxious for a moment to himself to just  _breathe_ , he suddenly can’t stand being out of Seungcheol’s protective circle another moment longer.

“It’s rude to walk away when somebodies talking to you.” The Alpha says. Heavy, serious, weirdly intent.

He's leaning closer, his whole body bracketing Jihoon in, an unsettling wall of heat.

“Think you’re too good for me, huh?” The Alpha growls, pushing his face against Jihoon's neck, inhaling.

Jihoon shivers, adrenaline spiking in his blood. The Alpha’s big, a good deal heavier than Jihoon and is using it to his advantage. Jihoon swallows with some difficulty and squirms, trying to find leverage, and the Alpha chuckles.

“Anyone ever tell you how fucking good you smell?” He purrs and Jihoon feels his stomach turn in on itself. "You smell primed. I bet you’re a pretty picture under all those clothes. Creamy skin and a tight little body. I can imagine how you’d look underneath me. And you’d be eager, too, wouldn’t you? Shit, you _would_. Squirming and bucking.”

“Listen asshat, I’m not interested. Leave me the fuck alone.” Jihoon sneers, his heart is racing

The Alpha laughs, but it’s an ugly, mean sound. “Why would I do that? Are you afraid your Alpha will see you getting wet for me?” He mocks, peering down at Jihoon with clouded eyes—desire or alcohol, Christ maybe both—and Jihoon's breath lodges painfully in his throat.

“I can smell another Alpha all over you, yanno. That’s a shame—but seeing as you’re not claimed, I take it he’s not satisfying you enough. That’s okay, I can satisfy you.”

Jihoon was hoping to end this civilly. But it looks like he’s going to have to introduce his knee to this Alpha’s groin. He’s getting very good at this.

He pulls his leg back, preparing to shunt his knee upwards when he hears a inhumane roar across the bar.

Jihoon turns to see Seungcheol push through the crowds. He barely has enough time to blink before Seungcheol’s fist collides into the side of the Alpha’s jaw.

It all happens so fast, Jihoon can’t think. The punch triggers something inside him, and suddenly Seungcheol’s pulling the guy into a headlock easily, jamming his knee into his stomach and then tackling the other Alpha to the floor

This isn’t a drunken uncoordinated brawl by any means, this is a well aimed attack; precise cartilage cracking punches are being thrown, and Seungcheol is growling at the guy, who just growls back, and suddenly Jihoon sees blood streaming out of the other Alpha’s nose.

They struggle, Seungcheol growling about how _‘Nobody touches his precious puddin’_ , and for all that Jihoon’s heart is surging with anger, in the back of his mind a little voice says,  _Yes._

The club is chaos; a few Beta’s eyeball the scene and retreat, the Omega’s yelp and duck for cover while the other Alpha’s are…..

….are just standing around commentating on the fight! Like they’re discussing the best way to erect an IKEA shelf or something.

Jihoon feels a hand tug him backwards; and spins to find a Beta urging him to step away from the commotion. But he can’t.

He’s mewling and whimpering without realising it, no thought in his head except that he needs to get Seungcheol the hell out of there.

He winces in sympathy when Seungcheol takes a punch to the face; thankfully it isn’t a solid hit, but he can see the split lip that results. Seungcheol doesn’t even seem to feel it, he grabs the other Alpha by his collar and delivers two swift punches to his kidneys.

Thankfully a few Beta’s are attempting to be peace makers; yelling and making attempts to pull the guys off each other, but it’s not until Mingyu pushes through and throws his arms around Seungcheol’s chest and hauls him up while a group of Beta’s hold the other Alpha back that the fighting stops.

Seungcheol gasps for breath, struggling against Mingyu and now Vernon’s hold. “Let me  _go_ ,” he hisses, finally wrenching away. He straightens his shoulders, every inch of him covered in sweat as his shoulders heave.

“What  _the goddamn hell_  is going on?” Two bouncers are closing in fast, though they stop walking when Seungcheol looks at them from under his brow: fierce, glittering, focused, and terrifying.

“Both of you—out now before I call the police.” One of the bouncers threatens.

The other Alpha glares at Seungcheol and grunts, wiping blood off the corner of his mouth. His eye looks bruised and there’s blood smeared all over his chin.

They stare each other down until the other Alpha finally looks away and he shoulders his way through the crowd.

Jihoon thinks, for a brief second that Seungcheol is about to follow him and drag him back into the fight. In _this_ state, with _that_ glint in his eyes, he’s capable of anything.

“We’re leaving,” he announces instead. He doesn’t give Jihoon time to respond, just takes his hand and hauls him out of there.

* * *

Once outside Jihoon stalks down the pavement, cutting back towards the dorm. Seungcheol is half a step behind and whistles for a cab as it passes.

He's doing a pretty good job of storming off, when Seungcheol is suddenly  _right there_ , catching at his arm and pulling him to a stop.

Jihoon jerks free, turning suddenly.  “What the hell was that?” he yells, breathless even though he’s not the one who was just in a fight.

Seungcheol stops dead in his tracks. He’s is still trembling with rage, crowding into Jihoon’s space, head lowered and speaking inches from Jihoon’s face.

“We’re going back to mine—get in the cab.” He says.

“No.” Jihoon snaps.

It takes him a moment to work his hands between them, pressing his palms flat to Seungcheol’s chest so he can push him away. Seungcheol subsides with reluctance, still hovering close. 

“ _Jihoon_.” He warns.

“No. I’m not going. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Jihoon says, voice low, hand jittery as he jabs a finger into Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol’s shoulders have tensed, but he is gazing away, his jaw as tight as ever, and his hands clench at his sides. “We’re going home—please just—get in the cab.” he says, his voice regaining a measure of patience.

It's an electric moment, jagged and hot and indecipherable, and Jihoon stares up into Seungcheol’s eyes, trying to figure out when everything shifted. 

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Fine—but we need to talk when we get there.”

* * *

The cab ride back to Seungcheol’s apartment is a haze. Jihoon is distantly aware of climbing into the back of the vehicle and Seungcheol crowding in after him, but he couldn’t say if the ride takes an hour or five minutes.

Neither of them talk.

Neither of them say a word during the drive, or the trip up the elevator, or even the short walk down the hall to the apartment.

It’s not until Jihoon closes the door to Seungcheol’s room and directs him to sit on the edge of the bed, that they talk.

Which means Seungcheol _tries_ to talk, tries to explain himself, and Jihoon tells him continuously to shut the hell up. It works for them.

Jihoon immediately starts pacing the small area next to the bed, even though the tight circles of movement only make him more light-headed. He can’t breathe, can’t think, and he channels all that mounting frustration into movement.

“Tell me what was going through your head Seungcheol! Actually don’t—I don’t want to know.” He flicks Seungcheol a narrow-eyed look and paces faster. “I don’t want to hear that my boyfriend is out of his fucking mind!”

“Just let me explain.” Seungcheol says, sounding exasperated.

“No!” Jihoon shuts him off.

Seungcheol huffs and clamps his mouth shut for the tenth time. His hands are red with blood, his hair falling into his face. He has a smudge of dirt on his left cheek. Or is that Jihoon’ left? Whatever. 

“You were completely out of order Seungcheol. You started a brawl for no reason.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and mutters, “That explains so much about you.” In a clearer voice he says, “How can you say that? He was touching you.”

“And I had the situation under control.” Jihoon counters.

“Didn’t look like it.” Seungcheol says stiffly, with what Jihoon thinks is a completely uncalled for amount of growl underneath.

Jihoon spins and moves to stand in front of Seungcheol, scowling down at him. “From where? The other side of the room? Through your pheromone glazed vision?”

“He was-“ Seungcheol attempts, desperate to interrupt, but it does him no good.

“You need to understand something Seungcheol,” Jihoon snaps, pointing an accusing finger. “I don’t need your protection. I don’t need _anyone’s_ protection. I’ve been looking after myself for years. Not to mention, you could have gotten into trouble! You can still get into trouble if that guy reports you.”

Suddenly, a heavy, warm hand splays slowly over Jihoon’s stomach, and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning.

“You don’t get how amazing you smell...” Seungcheol pushes his face into the curve of Jihoon’s neck, breathing him in as he scratches lightly over the material of Jihoon’s t-shirt.

Jihoon may be pissed, but he can feel himself going rock hard in his jeans. There’s only so much of Seungcheol’s touch he can take, even with his defences up.

“You don’t understand how an unclaimed fertile Omega smells to us.” Seungcheol’s hand slides lower, fingertips sliding underneath Jihoon’s shirt as he noses at Jihoon’s jaw. “Some Alpha’s get a few drink in them and—they get daring. I don’t want you hurt, can’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you, pawing you.”

“Cheol.” Jihoon gasps, losing the battle with himself and arching into Seungcheol’s touch as he flattens his palm over Jihoon’s stomach, rubbing back and forth until his hand curls around Jihoon’s side, holding him steady.

“You belong to me, we belong to each other.” Seungcheol says in a rough voice Jihoon doesn’t recognize.

Jihoon would argue that he _belongs_ to nobody, but he swallows a desperate little whimper when Seungcheol lifts his shirt up to nuzzle against his stomach, his hands sliding down Jihoon’s arms to grab his wrists.

It’s so fucking unfair because _everything_ has become so much more sensitive since he’s become fully fertile, especially his stomach and chest, and Seungcheol takes shameless advantage of that.

It occupies Jihoon enough that he doesn’t complain while Seungcheol takes his time, kisses Jihoon’s stomach and chest. He gasps when Seungcheol suckles his nipple, nearly as sensitive as his cock now, yelping when Seungcheol bites gently.

“No—stop Cheol.” He hates the heat he can feel coming off Seungcheol in waves, the musky scent of his sweat. Even now, fighting Seungcheol, pissed at him with everything he’s got, Jihoon still wants to fucking kiss him so badly he aches with it. “We’re fighting. Stop—stop distracting me.” He says, stepping away, refusing to be diverted.

“I don’t want to fight with you Jihoonie.” He protests, looking more like a kicked puppy now than an intimidating wall of intent.

“Well I want answers. Don’t you think I’ve noticed how you’ve been behaving recently? The possessiveness? You’re acting like I’m your property, getting aggressive with anyone who looks at me twice.”

Seungcheol's jaw clenches, and Jihoon can't help but feel that he's holding himself back from speaking. Like he knows that whatever he was going to say is  _wrong_. That it would only make it worse. It's a restraint that doesn't look right on him.

It's an irritated drag of minutes before Seungcheol responds, air strained with agitation. “He wasn’t just looking at you Jihoon. He was touching you—I—It made me angry.”

“Well—duh! You don’t go around breaking people’s noses usually, I know you were angry, Seungcheol. But you didn’t have to do that, I was just about to take care of it. You think I haven’t been approached before? You think I’m incapable of refusing offers? What do you think I was going to do? Have sex with him?” Jihoon says incredulously.

Seungcheol swipes at the blood on his chin. “Maybe, I dunno. You seem to be pretty fucking popular with—“ he breaks off in frustration, in confusion. Jihoon can see him getting hung up in his own thoughts.

“Popular? Well—go on, finish what you were going to say.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders slump a bit, like he can’t quite hold onto the fight inside him.

“C’mon Cheol. Tell me. Did you think I was going to lie down on the bar and spread my fucking legs? Is that what you think I do? Is that what you think of me?” Jihoon asks, with what he thinks is a calm tone of voice that Seungcheol doesn't deserve.

Seungcheol doesn't say anything, but Jihoon thinks there's something guilty about the way he's holding himself.

“You think I’m some kind of slut? Is that what this is?”

Seungcheol lifts his head, meets Jihoon’s eyes, and says very plainly, “No.”

“Then why did you flip into such a rage? Why couldn’t you control yourself?”

Seungcheol closes his eyes, his head bowed. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“I told you I don’t need it. I can take care of myself and honestly Cheol, the most terrifying and threatening moments I’ve experienced thus far—have been because if you.” Jihoon snaps.

He feels an instant stab of guilt when the words make Seungcheol’s face shutter up tightly. His eyes snap back to Jihoon’s, dark and hurt.

Jihoon stares at him, right into a moment of complete silence, and it’s like the entire planet has stopped just so Jihoon can hear the answer to his greatest accusation ever.

“Really?” Seungcheol mutters, almost too quietly to make out. Jihoon sees it then—the hurt in the Alpha’s face, the way his face can't quite hide it. 

Seungcheol head dips, hanging on his neck like he can’t hold it up anymore. “But I was just—” When he tapers off it's with such a soft sigh that Jihoon's heart aches.

Okay. Maybe that was harsh.

Jihoon thinks about retracting it, but, no, that was entirely warranted.

But Seungcheol’s very sad now. _Fuck_. Why is Jihoon suddenly the bad guy here?

Jihoon wants a goddamn do-over on this conversation because hell no, Seungcheol doesn’t get to be the kicked puppy in this situation.

“Look at me.” Jihoon orders.

Seungcheol only dips his head further, whining.

Jihoon scowls. “Oh my god. You’re unbelievable. You’re like a steam roller around everyone else and then here you’re like a kicked puppy. How am I meant to shout at you when you keep curling in on yourself!” He blurts out breathlessly.

Seungcheol doesn't answer. He's trying to look away, but Jihoon doesn't think that's quite the right reaction. He takes Seungcheol's chin in his hand and forces Seungcheol's attention back on him.

“Cheol! Here’s your opportunity to speak.”

“What do you want me to say? There’s nothing I can say—I terrify you.” Seungcheol replies, and to Jihoon’s ears his voice sounds tired, small—a shadow of its normal timbre.

“I want you say you’ll stop being a possessive shit. Stop acting like everyone is a threat.” Seungcheol flinches at the words, and Jihoon feels a petty sense of triumph.

“I can’t do that. I’ve tried.” Seungcheol murmurs.

Jihoon wrings his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t need you watching me 24/7. I managed fine without you before—and I certainly didn’t go around displaying myself to Alpha’s then, why would it change now?”

Seungcheol sighs, a breathless, exhausted sound.

“You’re fertile now.” Seungcheol says. As though that's all the explanation necessary.

“Again with the fertile!” Jihoon huffs and throws his hands up in the air.

Suddenly Jihoon's so far beyond exhausted with the topic that there's nothing left to argue. “I can’t talk to you like this. You’re impossible. Just sit here and think about what you did. I’m going to make a snack.” He announces.

He turns away from Seungcheol's imploring face and walks out, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

He’ll back off, just a bit, just to give Seungcheol space to cool off and allow his pride to recover.

What Jihoon needs now is a delicious midnight sandwich.

* * *

“How’s Cheol holding up?” Mingyu asks when Jihoon stomps into the kitchen.

“Fine.” Jihoon sighs.

Mingyu gives him a sympathetic look. “Tough night huh? Yanno, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Me neither. Maybe it’s because Jihoon’s— _fertile_.” Vernon says the last word in a voice that he probably thought was too quiet for Jihoon to catch.

Jihoon whips his head around to glare at him, and both Vernon and Mingyu retreat to the opposite end of the kitchen.

“He’s being completely ridiculous. I can defend myself. You guys are Alpha’s—you can smell me, you’re behaving, so what’s he getting so worked up about?”

Mingyu and Vernon exchange a look.

“That’s because you’re pretty terrifying.” Vernon says.

“And I learnt my lesson after that time you kneed me in the balls.” Mingyu points out—which, okay, touché. “But—you got lucky that day,” Mingyu adds, then falters when Jihoon turns and gives him a warning look.

Mingyu swallows, looking increasingly nervous. “I’m just saying--you took me by surprise. It could have turned out very differently. What if you get approached by an Alpha and didn’t manage to subdue them? That’s a big possibility you have to consider now that you’re fertile. Your smell has changed—you’re like a beacon now and I guess Cheol just wants to keep you safe. Is that so bad?”

Jihoon tilts his head in reluctant agreement.

Mingyu’s got a point, but it doesn’t make him any less angry.  

He didn’t ask him to defend his fucking honour, and it’s not Seungcheol’s place to be playing the knight in shining armour.

He doesn't know how the hell you're supposed to deal with someone who shoves themselves between you and things that want to touch and use you, over and over.

Not because they have to, not because they have moral obligations and felt  _compelled_  to, or because they were strong enough to take it. Someone who did it just because they cared and revered you so much it was instinctual to keep you safe.

Jihoon’s never had that before. He doesn’t know how to deal with it because it’s easy to resent something you don’t understand. He still doesn't know how to deal with it when it's become something far more complicated and dangerous.

Jihoon ends up taking his frustration out on his sandwich, scraping cutlery and banging cupboard as he searches for ingredients.

The food in the cupboards turns out to include every non-perishable ever invented, and a collection of spices so vast that Jihoon doesn't even recognize half the names. But no pickles? Not a single jar? 

“What are you looking for?” Mingyu asks, as Jihoon scales the counter to search for condiments.

“Pickles.”

“We don’t have any pickles Jihoonie.” Mingyu says.

Jihoon goes completely still, except for the rabbiting of his heart.

He stops where he is and stares at his sandwich, and suddenly, he remembers.

He remembers the night of Jeonghan’s party, things he’d forgotten, things he thought he’d embellished, things he’d wanted to get his hands on and his mouth over, things he’d wanted to say, things he’d wanted to hear, and he stumbles down from the countertop.

Jihoon feels like he’s falling, tumbling into something he’s too terrified to look at. His fractured memory of that night like blocks, falling into place, one by one, slow and steady.

“Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?” Mingyu calls out to him as he stumbles out of the kitchen. And when he doesn’t answer, “Can I have it?”

* * *

Jihoon slowly makes his way back to Seungcheol’s room, pulse pounding as he tries to think of things to say.

When he pushes the door open, he expects to see Seungcheol stalking around like a pissed off jungle cat, but Seungcheol is still sitting at the side of the bed, shoulders slumped. Defeated.

Jihoon’s heart makes a weird swooping sensation. He steps closer until he’s standing over Seungcheol.

“It was you.” He whispers, and Seungcheol raises his head as if this is the first sound he's heard. Maybe he didn't notice Jihoon come in.

“You brought me home that night. From the party.”  Jihoon murmurs, forgetting to provide context, but Seungcheol seems to know what he's talking about anyway.

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders and ducks his head.

Jihoon reaches out, tips Seungcheol’s chin up.

Seungcheol's throat works in a hard swallow, eyes darting back and forth across Jihoon's face, and Jihoon feels his mouth curl into a smile, “And you—changed my clothes. You—made me that sandwich. Looked after me and—tucked me in to bed.”

Seungcheol simply sits there, wide eyed and silent and utterly motionless. Watching, like he's waiting for Jihoon to make the first move.

Jihoon leans his head low, settling it against the slope of Seungcheol’s shoulder. He takes slow, greedy breaths of skin and cotton. He pulls Seungcheol into his lungs, flavouring all of his oxygen with the heavy taste of him.

“I thought it was Jun. I—“ He whispers, cupping Seungcheol’s face and leaning forward until their noses almost touch. “I must have been—so annoying, and you were so patient. And then I ignored you, deliberately, for _weeks_ because I was embarrassed and you—you still tried with me. After all that crap I unloaded on you—I can’t believe you did that for me.”

Seungcheol meets his gaze head-on, dark eyes gone black with surging emotions. “I’d do anything for you.” He says. The words echo heavy with promise, tugging on something inside Jihoon.

“Fuck—Cheollie.” Jihoon whispers, eyes stinging with emotion.  

Seungcheol smiles, but it’s not a happy smile.

Rather it’s curiously sad, and Jihoon doesn’t understand it. Can’t stand seeing it, really, so he clears the air the best way he knows.

The kiss is slow and soft, and before long he feels Seungcheol’s lips move into a more natural curve. Seungcheol slips his arm around Jihoon’s waist, closes the scant gap between them with a tug. The next kiss goes deeper but doesn’t lose that gentle touch. It’s the single-most romantic kiss of Jihoon’s life.

When they pull apart Jihoon lets his head drop back on his shoulders and curses himself. “Fuck, I’m sorry Cheollie. I didn’t mean it when I said you terrified me. I was just pissed off and lashed out the only way I knew how. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol nods slowly. “You don’t talk about it much—but I know somebody hurt you. I just—don’t want anyone to hurt you again.” He mutters, and Jihoon feels something inside him crack.

Jihoon mewls, heat unfurling low in his belly as he climbs onto Seungcheol’s lap, his eyes fluttering shut. Seungcheol makes a quiet little noise in his throat right as their lips slide together again.

They kiss for what feels like an age. It's familiar and yet brand-new, and Jihoon knows Seungcheol feels it too.

They've known each other a long time: the feel, the weight, the taste, the scent of one another. Seungcheol can always find Jihoon in crowd, even on campus at the busiest time of the day. He's drawn to the rhythm of his walk, the particular blend of his scent.

He tried to explain it to Jihoon once, but couldn't, and it doesn't matter anyway because Jihoon can do the same thing no matter how many other Alpha’s are about.

They recognize something in each other. They fit.

Perfect puzzle pieces.

Jihoon's not even aware of when Seungcheol reversed their positions, stripping him of his clothes, laying him on the bed underneath him.

They’re pressed together, legs tangled, skin warm and flushed, but he doesn't want to be anywhere else.

* * *

The first thing Seungcheol does is press his nose to Jihoon’s neck and  _breathe_ , slowly, almost reverently.

Jihoon makes a little hiccupped moan, lashes fluttering and Seungcheol bites gently at Jihoon's throat, teasing, before latching hard just beneath his ear. Not enough to break the skin, but hopefully enough to bruise. A tangible reminder of this moment that he slicks with his tongue and sucks to the surface, revelling in the audible groan drawn as he leaves a mark that will last for days.

Jihoon’s mewling and writhing under his weight before he even begins to tease at his rim with two fingers.

Jihoon doesn’t self-lubricate as purposefully outside of heat and Seungcheol’s ring and forefinger seem so thick pressing on that little pucker, just enough to make Jihoon feel the sting when their tips push inside.

But Seungcheol knows he can take them, and so much more. He hears the hitch of breath, feels Jihoon clench for a moment, then draws a soft whine from him as delves deeper, up to the second knuckle.

Seungcheol curls his fingers upward when he thrusts, petting Jihoon’s most intimate area. And Jihoon unfolds beautifully with it, grasping at Seungcheol arms, shoulders trembling.

“Oh—God—Ahh!”

He’s huffing out quiet moans into Seungcheol’s neck, rocking his hips back on the fingers inside him. When Seungcheol finds his prostate it’s with a slow, insistent grind of his fingertips against that gland that he turns Jihoon’s moans into sobs.

Jihoon's eyes fall shut, and he catches his lower lip between his teeth. “Cheol,  _ohfuck_  Cheol,”

His face is tight with pleasure, unselfconscious and unguarded, and Seungcheol takes in the sight with greedy eyes.

He sucks bruises along the line of Jihoon’s neck, watching him whimper and shaking apart underneath him. Inside Jihoon feels so hot and tight, spasms pulsing in waves around Seungcheol’s fingers. “More.”

“Anything Jihoonie,” Seungcheol pants, rubbing himself up against Jihoon. “Anything for you.” Seungcheol groans, presses more firmly on Jihoon’s prostate, keeps that rubbing motion up at a steady pace.

Jihoon’s doing half the work, rolling his hips in tight circles, trying to make the pressure constant. One of his hands cups Seungcheol’s cheek, thumb stroking over his bottom lip and Seungcheol sucks it into his mouth with a low moan.

“Ah, ah,” Jihoon moans, clenching on Seungcheol’s fingers with each grind on his sweet spot, his entire body starting to quiver. “Cheol…close.”

Seungcheol grins, letting Jihoon’s thumb slip from his mouth. “You’re not…leaving this room today, Hoonie. Going to h-have you every way. Make you come until you can’t stand it, oh fuck…”

Just thinking of his plans has Seungcheol on edge.

Jihoon’s responds with a series of high, near pleading whimpers; nodding enthusiastically, past the point of words. He’s so close, Seungcheol could easily bring him off like this then work him right back up again but he doesn’t want Jihoon to come this way. He wants him trembling on his cock, stuffed full of Seungcheol and desperate for more.

He slips his fingers out, shushing Jihoon’s needy mewls as he slicks himself up.

The head of his cock nudges at Jihoon's entrance, hot and sticky, and Seungcheol can't stand the thought of not being inside of him within the next five seconds.

" _Cheol_ ," Jihoon says –pleads—and that's all it takes; Seungcheol leans over him and, braces one hand on Jihoon's hip, the other guiding as he slips his slicked up cock in and in.

Jihoon is perfect and impossible and tight around him, welcoming and hot, and Seungcheol worries that his brain might melt straight out through his ears. Jihoon's hips cant up to urge him deeper, and Seungcheol is lost to a rhythm before he's even finished sliding all the way in.

"Jihoon-yess." Seungcheol says when he’s all the way in, his weight settling in the cradle of Jihoon's hips.

Jihoon’s breathing hard, eyes shut tight and head thrown back against the pillows. He pulls his knees further up, groaning at the shift of Seungcheol’s length within his body.

The column of his throat is offered up, and Seungcheol can already see the bruise settling in. He bites again, can't resist, just above Jihoon's collar, hoping this will satisfy his primitive side for now.

"Oh—god—It's good," Jihoon breathes, leaving lingering touches on Seungcheol’s cheeks, his throat, his shoulders. 

Jihoon bites his lip when Seungcheol slowly pulls out until just the head is inside, stretching his entrance, and then presses back in, an unhurried, torturous slide that makes Jihoon swallow down a desperate whine.

Seungcheol’s first few thrusts are agonizingly slow, Jihoon meeting him halfway with smooth rocks of his hips. It’s a challenge to override the instinctive urge to fuck in hard, fast.

Seungcheol knows Jihoon can take that, get off from it. But he prefers tenderness, a slow assault on Jihoon’s senses and Seungcheol wants to make him unravel that way.

By the tenth thrust, Jihoon's thighs are trembling against Seungcheol’s flanks, and they’re both slick with perspiration; Seungcheol can feel it pooling at the hollow of his throat, and Jihoon’s cock is dragging against Seungcheol’s stomach, pre-come mixing with sweat.

Seungcheol licks at the seam of Jihoon's lips, making Jihoon realize he’s biting his lip; he opens his mouth with a gasp, straining a little to capture Seungcheol’s mouth into a kiss, gentle teeth and slick skin, a hundred nerve endings lighting up and begging for more.

Seungcheol’s slow to pick up his pace, and the exquisite build up of pressure is right on the edge of being too much for both of them already.

"I don’t know what you’re trying to do—but it’s killing me," Jihoon murmurs when their mouths part.

"I’m trying to make love to you." Seungcheol laughs, his teeth grazing Jihoon's swollen lower lip even as his hands slide up Jihoon's arms and push them against the bed, holding them there. “I thought it would feel good.”

“It does feel good— _Ahhnn_ -too good, Cheol. _Hnn_ —It’s too much.” Jihoon gasps, wrapping his legs around Seungcheol’s hips and pulling one hand free to tug Seungcheol down into an open-mouthed kiss.

He feels intoxicated, drugged, hazy, gratefully for every touch, every ache. Seungcheol’s not even aiming to tease. He’s simply savouring this act, no need to rush when he has Jihoon right where he wants him, breaking him apart with lazy measured thrusts.

Jihoon tightens around Seungcheol’s cock deliberately, clenching each time his prick drags out. Its maddening, incredible. Seungcheol tells him as much, tells him every praise and filthy thought that crosses his mind.

“Want to come all over you Jihoonie,  _fuck_ , fill you up with me. You feel so damn good.” He swears, thumbing over Jihoon’s nipples, pinching them, right as he brushes over that spot inside Jihoon that makes his eyes shut, pulls a pornographic moan from his lips.

Fingers comb through his hair, keeping Seungcheol in place when Jihoon turns his head so they can kiss. Less finesse now, more the slick bump of their lips pushing together, the air shared between them hot, consuming. Seungcheol fucks into Jihoon deeper then, feels him groan against his mouth. The clench of his passage around his cock is unconscious now, driven by the grind of Seungcheol’s cock over his prostrate.

“Ahh—yes—there.” Jihoon pants, rubbing at Seungcheol’s arms. “Right there. Keep going.”

All Seungcheol can respond with is, “Yeah, yeah.” His voice a thick rasp over Jihoon’s mouth.

In moments like these he feels unfamiliar surges of possessiveness, greedy desires to hoard Jihoon in his room, in his bed and make him fall apart touch by touch for days.

He’s the perfect Omega; the long arch of his neck as his head drops back and how his body writhes, driven to have more, to be overcome.

When Seungcheol takes Jihoon’s cock in hand Jihoon shudders; when he begins to stroke in time with his thrusts he earns another sob.

It's becoming difficult to focus. Physical pleasure surges sharply beneath Seungcheol's skin, the mounting edge of orgasm curling low in his gut.

“So beautiful Jihoonie.” Seungcheol murmurs, lips grazing the shell of Jihoon’s ear. A hand slides down to wrap gently around Jihoon’s throat, thumb sweeping over the pulse.

He’s so close now, they both are. Just a few more….

* * *

Jihoon swallows, reflexive, the touch and warmth of Seungcheol’s palm on his neck sends a jolt down across his chest arm and straight to his cock.

“Cheol—wait—wait.” He gasps

Seungcheol’s eyes flutter open. “Huh?”

“Not yet, don’t want to come yet.” Jihoon pants, hands on Seungcheol’s hips trying to slow him down.

“Fuck— _please_ , I’m dying here Jihoonie.” Seungcheol whines through gritted teeth.

“But, I want to—want to be yours when I come.” Jihoon says, and he can’t keep the shiver out of his voice.

“You _are_ mine.” Seungcheol growls.

“No. Want to _really_ be yours. Want everyone to know it.” he whispers, and Seungcheol’s wide-eyed blink of surprise is priceless.

Seungcheol’s hips stutter, rhythm faltering. Once, twice, again, before stilling inside Jihoon. “What?” He says, realization a hungry flash behind his eyes.

He looks at Jihoon suspiciously, as if he's waiting for the punchline. It tells Jihoon he’s been keeping Seungcheol waiting for too long.

All he knows is that he’s been circling an ever-tightening orbit around Seungcheol ever since they met, and it looks like gravity finally got to him.

Jihoon wants Seungcheol to claim him like this, leave his mark for everyone to see. He imagines the shape of Seungcheol’s teeth like a tattoo on his skin and he realizes even if the marks weren’t visible, Seungcheol claimed him ages ago. They've each left parts of themselves in the other's care.

Jihoon tilts his head ever so slightly to give him access, and Seungcheol’s eyes pulse, breath rattling out of him in a harsh animal sound at the gesture.

He feels Seungcheol’s touch against his neck and Jihoon stretches, giving him permission. He registers the moment when Seungcheol nuzzles his neck, can feel a shiver rolling across his flesh, goosebumps pushing to the surface.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head obediently, opens himself to Seungcheol’s exploration. It's gentle, a reverent touch of Seungcheol’s plush mouth, followed by the soothing sweep of tongue. Jihoon gasps at the barest scrape of teeth, the gentle sucking at his skin, before Seungcheol snarls and there’s an edge of teeth sinking in and coaxing blood to the surface.

Jihoon’s breath hitches, comes out in a rush. “AHH—CHEOL!”

It only makes Seungcheol clamp down harder, worry the skin between his lips, and it's a heady rush of pleasure, no pain at all.

“Cheol—oh fuck!” Jihoon cries.

Seungcheol sucks harder, all heat and moist breath on Jihoon's skin, and Jihoon can't help the moan that escapes.

Seungcheol starts rutting into him again, rolling his hips hard and bottoming out with every thrust as he suckles on the bite.

“Ahh— _ahh_ —yess—ahh—cheol—fuck— _ahnn_!”

He doesn’t know what feels better, the cock inside him or the teeth in his neck; both sensations combine to push him over the edge and he feels the slick heat of his release as he empties between their stomachs.

There's a soothing hand stroking his belly and Jihoon hears Seungcheol’s whine as he clenches down tight around his cock.

Seungcheol’s rhythm slows right down, before he pulls out and comes shamelessly all over him, and Jihoon's never been so happy to be an absolute mess. He sucks his own marks into the skin of Seungcheol's neck and grins at him unabashedly.

“You love making a mess of me don’t you.” Jihoon laughs, feeling sore and sticky and content.

“Jihoonie,” Seungcheol murmurs, pulling away to survey the newly-formed mark. Jihoon runs his fingers over the surface, feels the heat of blood rising to the surface, the slight tenderness beneath the pads of his fingers.

Jihoon’s never felt so fucking  _complete_  before, and God, he’s so happy. He never thought he would be so happy to  _belong_  to someone.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Seungcheol is whispering, voice wrecked, lips red and swollen, planting kisses across the plains of Jihoon's face, his nose, over his eyelids.

“Yes, yours.” Jihoon smiles, petting the wildness out of his hair.

"Mine," Seungcheol repeats, tugging Jihoon until they are laying on their sides, facing each other; he pulls Jihoon closer and runs a possessive hand down his back, his fingers dipping down to where Jihoon is still stretched open, Seungcheol’s come trickling out of him, smearing the sheets, the backs of his thighs.

He presses his lips briefly against the bite on Jihoon’s neck and closes his eyes, his hand splayed against Jihoon’s back. “Mine.”

“Yes, Cheol—I see you’ve got Alpha tunnel vision again.” He giggles, sliding his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair as Seungcheol continues to whisper ‘mine’ against his skin. “At least you’ve stopped saying fertile.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps up at that, eyes wide with interest. “Fertile?”

Jihoon sighs, “Me and my big fucking mouth.”

“Fertile.” Seungcheol repeats more enthusiastically.

“Oh—god!” Jihoon groans.

* * *

Jihoon wakes the next morning to the stab of sunlight between curtains, and finds himself curled safely against his mates chest.

 **His** **_mate_**.

He's marginally shocked to have slept at all, pulse picking right back up again when he remembers where they left off last night. His body aches everywhere, sore in all the right places, and the bite on his neck throbs pleasantly.

Seungcheol is awake and watching him, Jihoon realizes, half-lidded eyes cataloguing him.

Jihoon makes an effort to rise up on his elbow and just look at Seungcheol for a minute, his hand coming up to trace the bridge of Seungcheol's nose, the bow of his lips, the arch of his eyebrows; then he kisses him, slow and sweet, taking his time.

"Morning," Seungcheol says, his cheeks dimpling, when Jihoon pulls back.

"Hmm—morning Cheol," Jihoon gives him another kiss, shorter this time. 

He stretches for effect, doesn't miss Seungcheol's eyes darting to look at him, the mark on his neck. “How long have you been awake, staring at me sleep for?”

Seungcheol glances at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Nearly two hours.”

Jihoon snorts. “You’re a creep.”

“ _Heyy_. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you by moving.” Seungcheol bites his ear to show exactly what he thinks of Jihoon's assessment, but he helps him stand up and supports him on the way to the shower.

Jihoon quirks an eyebrow at his coddling behaviour. “Escorting me to the shower? In your apartment? That seems unnecessary.”

Seungcheol ducks his head sheepishly. “You—uhm—look like you need it.”

“What? I’m feeling fine.” He laughs, right before he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“Holy shit,” he says, flicking on the vanity light and turning his neck toward the mirror. There's a fucking bouquet of bruises smattering his skin, and okay, he'd wanted Seungcheol to mark him, but this seems excessive. He wonders why he didn't notice when Seungcheol was doing it.

All he remembers is warm, wet pressure, tongue and lips and words against his skin. Fuck. And yet, he can't ignore the tiny shiver of something that sneaks up his spine.

Seungcheol is standing behind him, grinning, all too aware of what the image of those marks is doing to Jihoon. “Too much?” he asks, cocky, and it's only then Jihoon realizes the bruises form a pattern. A capital “S.”

He should really know better than to give Seungcheol an inch.

Instead, Jihoon meets his gaze in the mirror and smiles back. “You’re unbelievable.”

Seungcheol stares at him, a flush creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He dips his head to press a kiss against Jihoon's neck, his arms snaking around Jihoon's waist. “The bruises will fade.” He assures, then thumbs over the mark on Jihoon’s neck, “The bite, however, won’t.”

Jihoon licks his lips, pressing back into Seungcheol’s muscled chest. He can feel his cheeks heating and hopes Seungcheol will think it's the steam. “I’m not complaining—I like seeing you on my skin.”

Seungcheol’s face shifts from slightly stunned to stupidly happy. At least Jihoon thinks that's what happens. He's too busy being kissed within an inch of his life against the sink to make an accurate assessment, but he honestly can't say he minds.

He's got no idea how long they go at it that way, making out in the bathroom while the steam rolls off the walls, but Jihoon's pretty sure he's memorized every millimeter of Seungcheol’s mouth by now.

He still can't get enough. His skin tingles, eager slide of sensation when Seungcheol's hands slip up to his face, the back of his neck, apply just enough pressure to take the kiss and shape it, angle it to Seungcheol's every nonverbal command.

When they pull back, they spend a quiet moment just standing there, foreheads pressed together. They're both breathing embarrassingly hard, fast rise and fall of chest against chest, and they stare at each other. Mutual awe, maybe disbelief.

“What do you want for breakfast.” Seungcheol whispers, and in his own way, it’s the most romantic thing he can say at that moment.

Jihoon’s beginning to wonder if maybe Seungcheol can read minds or something, because his stomach grumbles not a second later.

“Waffles, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I feel like I've written Seungcheol--too possessive almost....I was aiming for it to be a thing he couldn't control because he kinda had no claim to Jihoon until he claimed him so has to protect his territory kinda thing.....I hope that comes across cause I don't want him to come across like disturbed jealous boyfriend.  
> 2) I have enjoyed everyone's suggestions in the comments and have lots of new ideas for the next few parts.  
> 3) Hope you enjoy reading! Feedback always appreciated.


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